some hearts
by hecates
Summary: Because some hearts just got all the right breaks... and some, well, didn't. Includes spoilers for TLH. Drabble.


_**Title**__: Some Hearts_

_**Summary**__: Because some hearts just got all the right breaks... and some, well, didn't. Includes spoilers for TLH. Drabble.  
><em>

_**Warnings/Spoilers**__: Spoilers for TLH and some minor swearing towards the end. Um, that's it. Yes. ^^_

_**Characters/Pairing**__: I won't tell you. It's up for your interpretation, but I'm sure they're all obvious. :)_

_**A/N**__: Why did I write this, you ask?_

_Because I didn't particularly feel like updating BM and wasting another one of my emergency chapters, I was battling writers block and I figured this prompt would be better for PJO than T39C. _

_This is Prompt 65 of CreativeWritingPrompts. This had to be about a certain holiday, which I'm sure you'll guess, and I couldn't mention a handful of words in it. Let's see how well I did that, yeah? :D Beta'd by the wonderful, wonderful __**Faded Classic**__, who made it much better than its 5AM-written self and written for __**Project PULL**__. Reviews are loved? Also, based off Carrie Underwood's song "Some Hearts". XD_

_**Dedication**__: To the Lily/Lorcan haters, because one day I'm going to write a drabble about them, make it work, and rub it in your face. ;D_

* * *

><p><strong>Some Hearts<strong>

**·**** A Drabble ****·**

* * *

><p><strong>A<strong>n unfathomable feeling of cheerfulness overwhelms her as soon as she wakes up, and she can't recall the last time she'd felt that way.

And then she sees the calendar as she's getting dressed, and she can feel her happy spirits deflate in an instant. Because it's _that_ special day, the one where girls expect to get chocolates and sappy letters and be pampered, the one where guys try to shuffle through it, salvaging as much of their manly pride as they can.

Even though camp is mainly empty, as most demigods left for the summer, a handful of people decided to stay for the year, including her. Travis Stoll is flirting with Katie Gardner in the strawberry fields. Jason Grace is talking to Piper in the dining hall, sitting at her table and not even caring that they aren't supposed to be together. Lou Ellen Turner is sleeping on Sherman Gray in the grass by the lake, and he looks about as happy as an Ares kid can possibly be.

She knows that bubbly feelings like—like the _l-word_ are completely against her nature, but every time she passes a cuddling couple, another pang hits her chest and she _hates_ it.

Because he's in a secretive place governed by a seven-foot-tall wolf, coddling some hazel-eyed brunette and not knowing who she was.

She hates today the most; it's the day campers don't give a shit about training and just spend it with their significant other. And although she tries to get the full-year campers to get interested in what she's saying during Greek Mythology lessons, they just keep staring all moony-eyed at someone behind her.

And it sucks.

She had been planning to spend this day with him, so many months ago, and then Hera had to go up and decide to interfere with her life more than she already has.

So when some new Dionysus kid blatantly ignores her when she's trying to teach him about Gaea and the giants and the threat they pose—because it's _important_, dammit, more important than some stupid holiday—she slams the textbook down on the table and stalks out, muttering obscenities about the damn holiday and heading toward her only sanctuary.

She sits alone in her cabin, her bed made and her laptop put away underneath her bunk. Instead of working on blueprints for the rebuilding of Olympus, like she usually does in her spare time, she sits on the mattress, nursing a cup of hot chocolate and holding a picture of them—revisiting the memories she once thought were too painful to bear . . . remembering the day he disappeared.

It's all so clear in her mind, the memories. The panic in her voice when his mother called her asking if she'd seen them. The desperation when she had scoured the city for him with Rachel, Thalia and other campers. How Travis Stoll had to _drag_ her away from the streets so she could get some sleep—because, by then, she was basically a zombie. The defeat in her bloodshot eyes when she stared at herself in the mirror, her voice hoarse from screaming his name.

She wants to shout his name like she did that first day, and hope beyond hope that he can, somehow, hear her. _Hey, this isn't funny anymore. Where are you? First Christmas, now this? Are you going to miss my birthday, too, Seaweed Brain?_

There were times that she felt the gods themselves were on her side, and there were times that she felt like she was just stumbling around in circles.

And she definitely does _not_ stumble around in circles. She has plans, she has backup plans for those plans, and she has backup plans for backup plans. Now she has . . . nothing. Not even Thalia's there to tell her to stiffen that upper lip and carry on like a good soldier. Knowing her, she was probably scorning today with her fellow Hunters. Unlike her, who did nothing but stare at their smiling photograph.

Well. She's never been the type that you'd call lucky, anyway.

* * *

><p><em><strong>S<strong>__tupid girl. He's not coming back._

She had realized that nearly a year ago, when her boyfriend of seven months had mysteriously gone missing, only to be replaced by a black-haired amnesiac with eyes the color of the sea. As more and more time passed, she grew to think that he was dead, with only the dreams contradicting her.

However, while hope is frail, it is a determined little bugger. With every month that passed, her hope fell, only to rise again at some news of—of anything, really. She hated the couples that had no problem with PDA, and there were a lot of them here. It was a good thing she was in the same boat with a few other people—as in not having a date for the accursed holiday—or else she'd spear the next couple she saw kissing with no regrets.

But today is the final straw. She can only take so much and be able to make a show of not caring. But it hurts, it really does—when she goes to bed, she dreams of him and a beautiful, dark-haired girl with skin the color of caramel. _Who is she?_ she wants to shout. She wants to kick, to scream, to slap him silly, but she knows she can't. _Where are you?  
><em>

And then, in her dream, he looks right at her—_right at her!_—and winks. Then he goes back to talking to the dark-haired beauty, making her laugh, making him smile, making _her_ think of the most painful ways in the world to kill someone. And as she stares at the happy couple, the only thought running through her head is _He knows. He knows who I am, and he's still holding her in his arms._

When she wakes up, alone in her room, she can hear little _snips _in the air as she cuts all ties with her supposed boyfriend.

A boyfriend who has made no effort to come back to her, a boyfriend who knows full and well who she is, a boyfriend who is now with some beautiful girl out in who-knows-where.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why have _you_ when he has that beauty in his arms?_

She can hear her half brother's snores from across the tent and rolls over on her bed, smothering her face with her pillow in an attempt to block out the sounds. She can't get the image of her boyfriend and that girl out of her brain, no matter how hard she tries.

It would've been better if he'd died. That way, she'd know and she would have time to stop caring.

But him being alive and well is infinitely worse, because for the _life_ of her she cannot close that fresh wound, no matter how hard she tries. She can't get rid of the hope that he'll come back to her, ditch the bimbo, and everything will be just as it was before he disappeared.

Maybe that's the 14th's magic in the air screwing with her brain, because she knows that'll never happen.

Or, maybe, she could go to him—if she found out where he was. And then she _knows_ that it's the enchantment of the 14th screwing with her brain, because that _definitely_ wouldn't happen.

And judging by that dream, he wouldn't welcome her with open arms anyway.

She just couldn't get a break, could she?

* * *

><p><strong>D<strong>ancing is awful.

Particularly when it's chaperoned and you have to wear death contraptions with frills, lace and bows. Even _more_ so when it's supposed to show off how much you've learned at the Academy and your adeptness at manners. And it's especially bad when you know that, while most boys are very good-looking and Father dearest would put his stamp of approval on all of them, you can't have them by eternal oath.

So when the dance is finally over, it's nothing short of a miracle. To her roommate's amusement, she rips off the dress and heels and changes into a ratty T-shirt and paint-stained jeans, preferring to go barefoot.

The day does not go unnoticed by her, and she notes the bitter irony. She waits until her roommate is asleep, and quietly turns on the lamplight, setting up an easel and grabbing some charcoal. She closes her eyes and allows her hand to draw for her, having no picture of what she wanted to draw yet.

So when she opens her eyes and sees _him_, staring back out at her, she has to muffle a gasp of surprise. His drawing almost looks lifelike. Somehow, she's even captured the right shade of his eyes.

She sits down, wondering why the _hell_ her hand had chosen to draw him. She hadn't seen him since Percy went missing, and remembering the heat of his gaze on her still sent shivers through her body.

Chiron had told her about the Argo II via IM a few days ago and she had insisted on going after she'd been told that _he_ would be with them.

She's used to getting what she wanted, so it was only natural that she'd want someone who was completely wrong for her, not to mention unattainable. It was almost like she had nothing to do with her time anymore.

She adds in some more detail—his clothes, the background—and slowly sits down on the chair, biting her cheek. She likes her job, really, but sometimes she wishes that she didn't take it. One of those moments being now, staring at her drawing, half-expecting it to start talking to her and jump out of the canvas.

But of course he doesn't—he stares at her, his mouth set into a firm line, his eyes dark and brooding as they always are. The poor kid has way too much on his plate. She briefly envisions seeing him again, and shakes her head.

_He's off limits, silly._

But it doesn't stop her from daydreaming, or envisioning things about him that she hasn't seen in a long time—like his smile, for instance. And while knowing what the day is, knowing that most girls have boyfriends to return to once their school year is finished stings, knowing that she could never have him is what hurts the most.

Yeah, it's official.

Being an eternal virgin is a pain in the ass.

* * *

><p><em>It's all I can do not to think about you.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Ω<strong>

_Meh. Third one's a little iffy. This was supposed to be in present tense, and I wrote it between three and five in the morning, so if you see any tense mishaps please point them out to me. IM, of course, meaning Iris Message. Anyway, these were the words I wasn't allowed to use in the story:_

_February :: heart :: cupid :: Valentine's Day :: love :: flowers :: roses_

_Anyway. I thought this was much easier to write for PJO than the 39C. I might write a oneshot about Annabeth's reaction to finding out about Percy's disappearance, because I haven't really seen those around the fandom. Penny for your thoughts?_

_Hope you enjoyed. Camp Gladius part III has been sent to my beta, so you get to look forward to something next week._

_Ta. x_


End file.
